Walk Away
by Ayse-of-Hearts
Summary: France and England, it's not what it looks like...


Disclaimer-Hetalia: Axis Powers belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.

AN: This is my first story and I'm really excited. Of course my first story had to be a Romerica story because seriously, Romerica needs some more love and so does Canada/Belarus or Canarus.

Warnings: This story contains the FACE family, England in Momma Bear mode, France and sexy times.

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><p><em>"Can I touch you here?" <em>

A shuffle. _"Higher."_

_"What about here?"_

_"F-fuck."_

_"You like that." _It's more of a statement than a question.

_"Don't ask questions, keep going."_

_"Does that feel good?"_

_"What the fuck did I just say?"_

England pauses in his stride, ears catching onto the whispered conversation. France stops in his path next to England. His ears had caught on to the hushed conversation and curiosity had gotten the better of him. He exchanges a glance with England and the two nations move closer to the door where the conversation had come from.

_"Take it slow idiot, I'm not up for any injuries this time."_

The two nations look to each others, brains processing the voice. The rough baritone accented with a European touch…the rudeness, the use of profane words...Is that South Italy?

"That sounds like South Italy." England whispers quietly. France nods in confirmation, his azure eyes never leaving the wooden door in front of them.

"_Oui_, but who is he with?" Another voice floats through the wood and strikes England and France as something familiar in their minds.

_"Haha, don't worry little Italy, I'll take it nice and slow, just for you."_

The nations gawk at the door; that was America just now. England's brain tries to process the information but it doesn't absorb properly. Behind that door, America is alone in that room with South Italy. In that room, behind that door.

Alone.

Alone with South Italy.

In a room alone with the personification of the southern half of Italy.

America, _his_ America, alone in a room with South Italy? One of _Spain's_ former colonies? And speaking in what England could only describe as _insinuating_ dialogue?

Oh. Hell. No.

England knows what they're talking about, France knows what they're talking about, hell _anyone _could tell what they were talking about; and in a public place, no doubt! Disgusting! He'd made sure to teach America and Canada about self respect and dignity, hoping that he'd never stumble onto…this.

His mind recalls one time where he and France engaged in similar...activities like this in his office and America walked in on them by accident. He'd hoped that America had learned from his mistake.

England groans and covers his face with a gloved hand in misery, that sentence did not come out right.

"It did not, _mon cher_."

The island nation looks up at the nation next to him, his face forming a confused expression, "What?"

France gives England an amused smile and the Englishman fights the urge to smack it off his face. "You were voicing your inner thoughts, _Angleterre_. I however, agree with you on _Am_é_rique's _behavior."

England scowls at the casual nation next to him. "Really frog? Do tell."

France looks to the door, then back to England with an unreadable look on his face. He grabs England by the arm and pulls the shorter nation a few feet from the door. England wrenches his arm free and glares at the French nation.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" France silences England with a finger to his lips.

"I believe _Amérique's _old enough for sexual interactions." England slaps the frog's hand away from his face angrily.

"Oh so since you think it's okay, he can get away with it? That's your problem, you let the boys do whatever they want without warning them of the repercussions! You did the same thing when we caught Canada and Belarus in that broom closet two weeks ago!"

France shrugs his shoulders. "I can't help that they take after me in the art of _l'amour_. Besides, you like Belarus."

England's argument dies a little on his tongue. "She is a respectable young woman, but that's besides the point. Since you think America's old enough for sex, he can just walk around shagging anyone he wants? He's barely halfway through his 200s and I'll be damned if _my_ boy shags with anyone in public, let alone one of _Spain's_ former colonies."

France puffs up with pride. "He's just sharing _l'amour _with one of the best lovers ever created, an Italian. I'm proud."

England rolls his eyes, pointedly ignoring the guttural moans and `wanton' sounds coming from the office behind them.

"_Unh Romano, you're so tight, my hands are getting tired."_

_"Shit, it's not my fault you've got huge fucking monster hands. The fuck did England feed you as a kid?" _

_"Shit! He cooked for me and Mattie all the time when we were little."_

A hard grunt precedes a breathy gasp from America. _"That explains it. That shit could mutate anything."_

France suppresses a chuckle at the thought but straightens his face as England shoots a death glare his way. "You think this is funny frog?"

"I'd rather not say, _mon cher_."

_"You're too fucking good at this, bastard."_

_"I'm glad you noticed. I've been practicing a lot lately."_

"THAT'S IT!"

England stomps back to the closed office door, intent on stopping this inappropriate activity. France rushes after him, attempting to calm him. "Wait _Angleterre_, surely we can handle this another way-"

"There isn't `another way'. This will end _now_. Our baby will _not_ become the office slut!"

England stomps harshly to the door, fuming mad. He balls his fists at his sides, lifts a foot encased in a hard, leather military boot, and kicks in the door. The two occupants stop what they're doing and snap their heads to the door.

"United States of America! You get off of Italy Romano right this instant-" He runs his green eyes over the scene before him with France at his side. "-and make yourself…decent?"

England and France stare at South Italy and America.

America and South Italy stare at France and England.

The four men stare at each other under an awkward air of silence. America places the hardwood desk he's hoisted over his head back onto the floor. He'd grabbed it and was ready to chuck it as soon as the door came crashing down. South Italy drops his makeshift weapon, an American flagpole, back in its position and glares at the newcomers.

"WHAT THE FUCK? Who the hell do you think you are, kicking people's doors down and shit!" He looks to America for back-up.

"Yeah! What's your deal Iggy? I just had that door replaced from the last time you barged in here in Rambo mode."

England doesn't answer, he just stares at the scene in front of him. Both America and South Italy stand in front of him, fully clothed in their dress shirts and suit pants from the earlier world meeting. No signs of inappropriate activity and the like. Well…

"_Angleterre_ was concerned on what you were doing in here, _Amérique_." France supplies, glancing over in England's direction. The nation is staring off at the scene, gaping like a fish with his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. The Frenchman sweeps his curious gaze over the room.

"What _were_ you doing in here America?" America turns his attention in a different direction. France is using that tone that all parents use when they want to know something. It's a questioning tone but condescending at the same time; he hates that tone.

"Nothing, really. We came in here for some files that my boss needs Romano to sign. He started complaining about his shoulders hurting and I offered him a massage. That's it."

England snaps out of his reverie. "Wait, what about that suggestive language?"

"Bastard's got good hands." Romano adds, shrugging and turning to stare out a window.

France seizes England by the shoulders and squeezes them softly. "You see _cher_, it is just a massage, nothing harmless. They are still fully clothed and everything. Our boy's sexual dignity is still intact, so there's nothing to worry about."

"Haha yeah! If I was having sex, I wouldn't do it in my office; seeing you guys do that turned me off the idea." America makes a sour face at the thought. A lovely little blush settles across England's cheeks.

"Well alright, I guess I believe you; but change your language! It suggests that you were doing other things." America nods in the affirmative.

"_Ohonhonhon_, speaking of `other things', _Angleterre_ it's about that time."

England glares at the suggestive smirk plastered on France's face. "We're not doing that again, you damn frog. Those chaps left bruises on my arse last time!"

"I told you to wear the ass-less ones so we could have maximum-"

"OH MY GOD. I DON'T WANT TO HEAR THIS. GET OUT OF MY OFFICE." America interrupts, covering his ears. The last thing he needs is an image of his parental figures in the midst of kinky, role-play sex.

Eww.

With a dirty grin and a lecherous laugh of _`Ohonhonhon~' _France grabs England by the ass and throws him over his shoulder while exiting the room. The island nation, slung over like a sack of potatoes, yells and curses furiously down the hall.

America and South Italy watch them walk away from the open entranceway of America's office. "I can't believe they thought I was having sex with you, little Italy."

Romano elbows America in the ribcage. "Don't call me little, damn blonde bastard. Seriously though, who fucks in an office?"

They both stare at the fallen door on the floor, with America tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, we've had sex almost everywhere _except _our offices."

He glances over to the Italian nation next to him, a mischievous glint in his eye and a fake British accent. "You wanna do it? Are you feeling _randy _baby?" Romano punches the younger nation in the bicep.

"Shut up and let's go. And you'd better not be loud this time."

"Haha, I won't."

They enter the office again and attach the door back on its hinges.

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><p>AN: Oh I just love the FACE family; France, England, America, that other guy. I don't know where this idea came from but I just ran with it. Expect more Romerica from me in the future ;)<p> 


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